Wednesday, July 30, 2008


BUFFALO: Muddily bloodily indomitably irrevocably presumably imperceptibly exponentially existentially verily merrily quite contrarily incredibly sparingly artificially incomprehensibly intoxicatingly lonely and...

When the senator known as Barack
Gave a speech from the back of a yak
Though try as he might
The yak was so tight
That his speech came out yakkity-yak.

BIRD: Dude, you need to get laid.

BUFFALO: The Lonely Adverb... does anyone REALLY care?

BIRD: Is that the Michigan Laffing Academy? Yeah, you need to get an ambulance to the auld Buff's place quick. The adverbs are flowing and he hasn't got a stick.

BUFFALO: Arf-ily, barf-ily, carf-ily, diddly, dee, ly.

BIRD: Hang on, Buffters. They're coming.

BUFFALO: Lone-ily. SO lone-ily. Piddle me biddle ly. Eeee. See that asparagus. It's stalking me!

BIRD: Rimshot! But is it too late?

Tuesday, July 29, 2008


BIRD: Dude, I hear they've closed the Michigan Laffing Academy. We could erect it in here, innit.

BUFFALO: Nein, mein Klockenspilengrossengrupenfuhrer. Der Laffing Academy ist Kaput, capice?

BIRD: Al zo... Ja, ist sehr geshitten zu offen, like.

BUFFALO: In der Toileten, liken ein Vogel scheissen.

BIRD: Mit der grosse fudgepacken gewipen nichts.

BUFFALO: Ja, ja, das is sehr gut, mein kleine schickelgrubber. Der Laffen Academie oder den Michigan Scheissehausen ist sticken up der arschen mit der weinerschnitzel und der roladen, mit der dillpicklen und der mustard, upen in den grossenintestin ver der solarligthen ist nicts zo gershinen.

BIRD: Film bei elf stunde.

BUFFALO: Arfe, arfe!

Monday, July 28, 2008


BUFFALO: Dude, I woke up this mawnin' and found this fooker at the bottom of my bed. I'm askin' ya, IS IT A SIGN?

Thursday, July 24, 2008


FIFI: It's called Zaftig Carlotta.

A zaftig young singer, Carlotta
Excelled when she sang a cantata
Once felled by the flu
She knew what to do
And used her vagina dentata.

BIRD & BUFFALO: Mah-vellous!

Thursday, July 10, 2008


BIRD: Strap yourself in, dude, and listen in to me chewin' da breeze wid mah homey litter rare E agent, like.

BUFFALO: Dude, wot the fook are you talking about?!

BIRD: You, me, the universe and uddery. We got an agent, innit. After all these years of obscurantory.

BUFFALO: Woo-hoo! Nice! What'shisname?

BIRD: Mr I Ching. Dunno wot the I stands for, but dude, we're in! Pour yerself a strong one, lean back and listen to the chat we had but one hour ago.

BUFFALO: Cracking open a bottle of Muscatel as I lower myself into the recliner...

BIRD: Here goes!

Um, er, is that Mr Ching?

I CHING: Ask I Ching.

BIRD: Mr I Ching. Excellent. I've been trying to reach you for some time.

I CHING: Perseverance furthers.

BIRD: Sure does. Da auld Buff and I have been looking for an agent to publish our book, Tails From The Bird And Buffalo: The Walrus Years, like.

I CHING: If someone is not as he should be, He has misfortune, And it does not further him, To undertake anything.

BIRD: Well, yeah, I used to think that but now I've finally got through to you, hopefully, all that is about to change.

I CHING: Under heaven thunder rolls, All things attain the natural state of innocence.

BIRD: My thoughts entirely. So you're happy to represent us?

I CHING: The great departs; the small approaches.

BIRD: Absolutely. I can't tell you how excited we are about this.

I CHING: The superior man falls back upon his inner worth, In order to escape the difficulties.

BIRD: Oh, wow! Hey, could you hang on? I need to grab a pen. Just to jot down the basic elements of the contract, like.

I CHING: He does not permit himself to be honoured with revenue.

BIRD: Yes, well... So you think you can place our book?

I CHING: The superior man keeps the inferior man at a distance, Not angrily but with reserve.

BIRD: A-ha. So how long do we have to wait before we hear something?

I CHING: In the midst of the greatest obstructions, Friends come.

BIRD: So, what are we talking, a few weeks?

I CHING: Joy comes softly, It furthers one to make offerings and libations.

BIRD: Brill! So I'll be waiting for your call. An email even.

I CHING: The light has sunk into the earth, The image of Darkening of the Light, He veils his light, yet still shines.

BIRD: Right O! It's been a pleasure talking to you, Mr Ching. Um, just curious. What does the I stand for?
I CHING: The Clinging, The Arousing.
BIRD: I see. Waiting for your call.
I CHING: Above the arousing, Below the Abysmal.

BIRD: Bye then.

I CHING: Oppression. Success. Perseverance.

BIRD: Right back at ya!


BUFFALO: Wow! This I Ching dude is well cool. Well done, Birdy. You have done well.

BIRD: Tanks, Buff. Onwards and upwards.

BUFFALO: Success on a plate.

BIRD: Gotta run. The Orifice beckons.

BUFFALO: Watch out for low flying.

BIRD: Film at eleven.

BUFFALO: Arf, arf!

Wednesday, July 09, 2008



BIRD: Yes, dude?

BUFFALO: I've lost the fookin' peacock!


BUFFALO: The one we were gonna use for the pilot episode. Zip. Ka-kronken-ho! Vanished.

BIRD: Dude, you can't just lose a peacock without a trace. Try and think. When did you see it last?

BUFFALO: Well, I gave it a shower, like, after a hearty meal of Spam and sardines and a fossilized mouse I found behind the cupboard in Sparky's room, all washed down with a Bud, you understand.

BIRD: OK. Then what?

BUFFALO: Then I kicked that jerk-berk Sparky out of his room and put Ms Paycock to bed, tucked her in, an' all.

BIRD: A-ha. And in the morning?

BUFFALO: Da peacock was gone.

BIRD: Have you checked the balcony?


BIRD: The kiddies' playground?


BIRD: The shooting range.

BUFFALO: O fahhhh-k. The shooting range. Those guys, the ones with the fahhhh-k off Uzis... They like to take pot shots at things and animals... And in her burst for freedom... Wot time is it? There may still be hope. Pray for me birdy, Birdy!

BIRD: Crossing everything that doesn't snap here, dude!


BUFFALO: Birdy, it's OK.

BIRD: Thank Gosh!

BUFFALO: Ms Paycock ain't at the shooting range. All I found were a coupla stray hogs and a trunk with a dozen dead parakeet in and a ransom note.

BIRD: Phew!

BUFFALO: But the range was sans peacock. Now wot?

BIRD: Gotta phone the cocks... I mean cops.

BUFFALO: Yeah, right. No, wait. It's just recurred to me that Sparky may have mistaken it for an ostrich, what with his lumbago an' all.

BIRD: An ostrich? Nice, lean meat. Very nutritious!

BUFFALO: I wondered what that was roasting on the spit while I was stirring me porridge. The stoopid bat-twat. The waxwork shagger's fookin' munched our peacock, dude.

BIRD: Omigosh! Fukkit! Where are we gonna get another peacock in time for the shoot this afternoon?

BUFFALO: I'm gonna kick that bastid's ass so hard, he'll wish he was born a nun.

BIRD: We're fooked. Finished before we started.

BUFFALO: No, no, no, no. Wait. For 50 clams we can have the perfect peacock that never was. If Sparky can mistake a peacock for an ostrich...

BIRD: Brillo, dude.

BUFFALO: And with a little make-up... We're gonna do this, dude. Nothing's gonna stop us now. Woo-hoo! Buff does it again.

BIRD: Great. Once you swish open that red curtain and...

BUFFALO: Red curtain...

BIRD: You have got the red curtain?

BUFFALO: Not egg sack Lee. Cindy's still working on it.

BIRD: Oh, for Freddy's sake. The best laid lambs an' all.

BUFFALO: Fukkit, dude. We'll go cgi. Nobody'll know. It's all cgi these days. Even the actors. I've got Photoshop and Adobe and shit, MS Word even. I'll do the whole thing on my laptop.

BIRD: Brilliant! Dude, you're a genius! Let's run thru the script one more time and then hit those pixels!

BUFFALO: Hmm. The script...

BIRD: You did save it?

BUFFALO: I er... it's nearly there, Birdy. I mean, it's so close I can lick it.

BIRD: How close?

BUFFALO: VERY close. Just needs tweaking.

BIRD: Out of a 30-minute pilot, how many minutes would you say are missing?

BUFFALO: Um... well... uh...

BIRD: How many?

BUFFALO: About 29.

BIRD: Ofukkit!

BUFFALO: But we can improvise. Some of the best comedy is improvised, innit. Look at Curb Your Enthusiasm. It's all spontaneous. It's great stuff. We can do this, dude. Just keep the faith.

BIRD: Dude, I'm going back to the Bore Fest now, the Orifice that must be obeyed, the place where I will eke out the rest of my days because you decided to fookup the only real chance we ever had of stardom. Thanks, dude. It was mammorable.

BUFFALO: Dude... Dude? You don't understand. Dude? So that's it. The only true friend I ever had. The one guy who stood by me no matter what. I haven't felt this bad since I had a "venous Doppler scan" done of my "lower extremities" including my Freddy. I'll talk him round. I know I will. Tomorrow's another day, right? Arf, arf!



Thursday, July 03, 2008


I was at the Bore Fest doing captions for "Juno and the Paycock" when I suddenly became aware that I was surrounded by red curtains -just like in the Black Lodge from "Twin Peaks". It hit me then that I had stumbled into the auld Buff's dream in which he fancied himself to be Special Agent Dale Cooper, having breakfast with Audrey Horne at the Great Northern. This wigged me out a bit. I tried to shake off the feeling of impending doom but then I began to get rather peggish. I had a sudden craving for a bucket of hot black coffee and a cherry pie and sent the gopher out to fetch them.

About an hour later as I was finishing off the pie, Caroline (our receptionist and office tart) buzzed me. She was all in a dither about some cheeky bloke who'd wandered into the lobby and made a pass at her after introducing himself as my uncle from America - Professor Splendor G. Mainwaring. This was a bit odd seeing as how I don't have a fookin' uncle in America, so I asked her to describe the fellow and then realized that the mystery man could be no other than the auld Buff himself, who'd been threatening for months to cross the pond and drop in on me in London when I least expected it.

The auld lunatic told Caroline that I should meet him after work at the Hound & Hare, just around the corner from the Bore Fest. Caroline asked if she could come along, as she seemed to fancy the Buff, proving once again that there is no accounting for taste.

At the stroke of five Caroline and I made our way to the pub, she as happy as a lark - but myself dreading that the Buff might try to ram his great woolly, horned head up Caroline's skirt. Thus did I prepare myself for the wurst... or the blutwurst, if you get m'drift.


Wednesday, July 02, 2008


BUFFALO: So tell me again, dude, why should I read Insolent Rudder at

BIRD: Cos it's jam packed with lots of goodies.

BUFFALO: Oh, yeah? Like wot?

BIRD: The Body Psalms Promo for a start. Made by the janitor.

BUFFALO: Wow. What happened to the editor, like?

BIRD: He is the editor.

BUFFALO: Shucks. And he's gotta clean up afterwards too?

BIRD: Feeds 'em too.

BUFFALO: Must be a Nordic ting. And wot else?

BIRD: Stories by Nonnie Augustine, Sydnee Elliot, Susan Elmendorf, GC Smith, Craig Terlson, Foster Trecost and Donna Vitucci. All at

BUFFALO: Salivating loudly here, dude.

BIRD: Rightfully so. These guys is premier league. Wanna hear about the rest?

BUFFALO: There's more?

BIRD: You betcha. There's that crazy Pube Maxim Ripyorebollokov trying to get reverb before the lights go out.

BUFFALO: Oh, I like him. He's well wacko.

BIRD: And some great cartoons by Marja Hagborg. And she's written a column too about NNS.

BUFFALO: Woo-hoo to dat! NNS, wot's dat?

BIRD: Non Native Speakers.


BIRD: And...

BUFFALO: More? No way!

BIRD: Way! There's a novel excerpt from Bonnie ZoBell's excellent Blue Jay. And a review of Liesl Jobson's 100 Papers. And check out Beth Thomas in the Author Spotlight.

BUFFALO: Omigod! I can't take much more. My ickle heart's about to burst! And it's all at Insolent Rudder, you say, at

BIRD: That's right, dude.

BUFFALO: Checking it out right now!

BIRD: You'd be a fool not to.

BUFFALO: Hey, dude.

BIRD: Yes, dude?

BUFFALO: How come I'm not there?

BIRD: You will be, dude. But ya gotta write something first, innit.

BUFFALO: OK. So that's Insolent Rudder.

BIRD: At Yep.

BUFFALO: Reading it as we speak. Omigod! I think I've just soiled myself.

BIRD: Insolent Rudder. The Write Choice. Don't Judder Da Rudder.

BUFFALO: Arf, arf!